


A Ghost Lives in My Lungs

by GoatBazaarofFics



Series: Keep Your Wits About You [7]
Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Fenris Needs a Hug, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, M/M, Mage-Templar War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-10
Updated: 2017-11-17
Packaged: 2019-01-31 10:37:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12680172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoatBazaarofFics/pseuds/GoatBazaarofFics
Summary: It’s been two years since The Chantry explosion and one year since the Mage-Templar war started in earnest. Fenris expresses his fears through writing, a suggestion Varric once gave him when he first learned to write all those years ago in Kirkwall.However, he is embarrassed to share the piece with his husband, because he would be admitting what he’s afraid of most.Anders wheedles the story out of him anyway by the simple virtue of being himself.





	1. It's Nothing Personal

Anders swears for the hundredth time that night and tosses his torn trousers aside. They land in heap at the corner of the tent. He pricked himself with the needle too many times trying to fix them and his fingers can’t take it anymore. He’s done, even if there is still a hole on the inner thigh.

“Pick the needle up before it gets stuck in your ass, mage.”

Fenris sits across from him, hunch over a journal. He’s writing, the what Anders doesn’t know. His hair, which has grown over the year they have been on the run, is tied back to keep out of his face.

He exhales slowly and rolls over on all fours to look for the tiny object. The second his left palm hits the ground; the needle pierces his flesh.

“Andraste’s fucking tits,” he hisses. Justice stirs at the sharp pain, but drifts away once he realizes they are not being attacked.

Anders rips the needle out and stuffs it back in the sewing box. The cut closes quickly and rubs the blood off with a bandage. He removes his robes and throws it on top his pack. He flops down on his side next to Fenris. He raises his hand and pouts up at him. “Love,” he whines, “kiss it and make it feel better.”

The elf scoffs, but smiles all the same. “You are an overgrown child.” He gently grabs Anders’s wrist and kisses his palm.

He smiles, “ah, and people say I’m the healer.’

Fenris chuckles and leans in to give him a kiss. It’s short and sweet, and ends too quickly for his liking.  

Anders turns over and lays on his stomach. He watches Fenris write for several moments. The scratch of paper is the only sound in their tent. He knows better to not bother his husband when he’s writing. Fenris needs silence to concentrate.

So, he pokes and prods Justice mentally.

The spirit grumbles and ignores him.

Anders pouts again. Fenris is writing something, and Anders desperately wants to know what. Then there is Justice, who is using their fugitive lifestyle to catch up on eight years of sleep apparently.

 He’s bored and he has to decide which lover he should annoy for entrainment.

 _Bother the elf and leave me out of your shenanigans,_ comes a deep voice from the back of his mind. That answers that dilemma.

“Fennnnrissss,” he drags the name out.

“No.” he says without even looking away from his journal.

 “What are your writing?” he asks, ignoring the elf.

Fenris squirms and his ears turn red. “Nothing.”

Anders’s interest is now piqued and so is Justice’s. _He is lying. Demand the truth from him._ “What do you mean _nothing_?”

Fenris looks anywhere but him. He coughs and fidgets. “It’s private,” he says after a moment. Anders sits and scoots closer to his husband. The elf stops writing all together and pulls the journal close to his chest. He glares at the mage, thinking he’s trying to sneak a peek. “Anders, I said it’s personal. I don’t want you to read it.”

Anders is taken aback. He has no intention to read Fenris’s personal journal.

“Love, Fenris, I’m not trying to invade you space—

“But you are,” he snaps.

To an outsider, Fenris would look genuinely angry, but Anders knows him. The way his ears turn red and droop. The way his shoulders stiffen, but his right leg bounces. The way Fenris avoids his eyes.

 _He’s embarrassed,_ the spirit supplies. Anders mentally rolls his eyes. _Yes, thank you, Justice. I figured that one out._

 _Hug him,_ is all he gets in return.

Anders takes the idea in earnest and pulls Fenris into his lap. He isn’t met with any resistance. Fenris buries his face into the crook of his neck, while he nuzzles soft, white hair. The tension in the elf shoulders melt and he relaxes.

But the hug is cut short too.

Fenris pulls back, but still sits in his lap. He glances at his journal and then back at him. He swallows. “It’s a story.”

He isn’t expecting that answer. “I’m sorry?”

“I am writing a story. A fictional one,” he answers slowly, “I…don’t think you would enjoy it.”

Anders can’t keep the grin off his face. “We’ve been together for five years and I had no clue you were interested in writing stories.”

Fenris turns his head away. The tip of his dusky ears is completely red now. “It’s a recent development.”

Anders cups his cheek and turns his head so they can look each other in the eyes. “There is nothing to be embarrassed by,” he laughs, “Maker knows Justice and I forced you to read our crap.” _Do not insult my part of our Manifesto_ , Justice booms. He rolls his eyes at the insulted spirit. “Let me correct myself, Maker knows _I_ forced you to read _my_ crap.”

This earns a tiny snort from Fenris. “I did enjoy Justice’s input on your writings.”

Vindication rises from Anders’s chest, but the feeling isn’t his. “Yes, well, I’m more proficient at note taking and scholarly papers on magic, not political statements,” he snarks. He becomes serious once more. “If you don’t want to share your story, then you don’t have to. Just know we’re not going to judge you.”

Fenris bites his bottom lip. “If...” he starts slow, “if you promise to not speak until I’m done, I can read it to you.”

“Love, if you don’t want to, you don’t have to,” he says. He rubs the elf’s shoulder. “You really don’t.”

“It isn’t a matter if I want to, it’s a matter I think you should hear it.” His voice is barely above a whisper. His entire demeanor deflates.

Anders is growing concern by the way Fenris is acting, but he nods. “Alright, I’ll keep quiet,” in an attempt to make his husband smile, he adds with a smirk, “if nothing else, Justice can clasp a hand over my mouth.”

Fenris’s lips twitch upward before they drop. He clears his throat and begins.


	2. A Story About You and Me

_The Ghost Lives in My Lungs_

 

I wander the desert for three days without food or water. The hot air scratches my throat and I lose my voice. The sand brush my eyes and I am blind. The wind invades my ears and I cannot hear. I wander the desert for three days without a soul to keep my company. I grow coarse and bitter. Resentful at the life others were given and the life I didn’t have. Hateful toward those who hurt me and those who haven’t. My tongue is heavy and dry. I want water, but I don’t deserve a drop. Not after my crimes.  

But at the end of the third day, I stumble upon a stranger. His presence is frightening. He is two people, two voices, two minds and I cannot comprehend. He is lightening and fire and _righteous fury_. He offers to rid me of my blindness, and I lash out. He offers to rid me of my deafness, and I bite his hand.

He doesn’t understand why I reject his offers, so he lashes out too.

The only thing he gives me is my voice. I snarl, I seethe, I scream, but I never say _thank you_.

On the forth day, we don’t spend enough time together. A moment here or there, but they are brief and tense. I hate him, because he’s the only person there to hate.

On the fifth day, we learn we work well as a team. There is no love, but deep and utter loathing. It’s personal. We stay at each other’s side because its for survival. Throughout the morning, we argue. We fight. We hurdle insults and cruel names. In the afternoon, we switch tactics. We snark. We joke. We mock the other’s presence. I, a wild animal. Him, an otherworldly creature.

By the time night comes, there is no love still. Only mild understanding and indifference.

On the sixth day, I wake up in the morning hateful as always. I go about my ritual until I hear a voice. It is sweet and gentle. I turn to see a man with golden-red hair and honey eyes. He sees me too and a spark electric blue ghosts over his skin.

It’s the stranger.

 _My_ stranger.

We go about the early morning tip-toeing around each other. As the hours tick by, I notice he likes me. I like him too. We finally hear our words and see the scars on our flesh. Before the night falls, he tells me he loves me. I find myself more terrified than before and I push him away. It lasts for a brief moment until we are each other’s arms and I confess my own love. Not just a part of him, but his entire being. The gold and blue.  

The night ends with our clothes discarded and our limbs tangled together. The nights have always been warm, but tonight is hotter. The fire and righteous fury turn to unchecked passion. The wind carries our gasps and moans and our whispered _I love you’s_.  

On the seventh day, we are never far apart. If I reach out, I can brush my fingers against his. This is living. There is ecstasy in my lungs and the taste of lightening on my tongue. I breathe his aroma of herbs and potions. My mouth burns because I can’t stop smiling. I love him.

The eighth day is the same and I go to bed thinking the ninth day will be too.

I was wrong. So, terribly wrong. He’s distant. Cold. He hyper-focus on one thing and one thing only. He won’t tell me. He keeps secrets. He lies. He hides away from me. I can’t reach him. The gold dims and the blue turns to black and purple.

And the night sky is red and hate and wrath. I can’t fathom why, why he would do this. How could he do something so horrifying? So monstrous? He isn’t supposed to be like the others, but he is.

But I still love him, so we run.

The tenth day is worse than the last. Others say I need to leave him, but I won’t. But I should have.

I can’t look at him. I can’t stand to touch him. I can’t be in the same room with him. He betrayed me and I hate him. We scream at each other until our voices bleed. We refuse to listen. We refuse to see. Once, I hit him with enough force to blacken his eye and break his nose. Once, he burns me with just a simple touch. Once, I told him I wish he was dead. Once, he tells me he doesn’t love me anymore and leaves without a goodbye. We don’t see each other for hours. At first, I'm happy. Then depressed. Then worried. Then mortified because _oh, Maker, what have I done?_

Guilt and shame consume me and I go after him. I chase him down. I bring him back to our only sanctuary. I apologize. He cries. I hold him. He clings to me. We talk and I hear him. Truly listening to what he says and I understand. 

Minutes until midnight, we make love once, twice, three times. The euphoria isn't there, but our touches sooth our aches. There are no words, because we don't need to say them out loud. 

Today, we are better. We can’t return to last week, but I never want to go back to yesterday. We’re married now and I am happy. I have my lover in my arms again. Life is hard, but all we need is each other.

Tomorrow, I fear, I will wake and he will be gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to edit the tags after I finished Fenris's story. i knew what I wanted to put in the story, but I just didn't know how detailed I was going to be.


	3. Still Here, Still Listening

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story was going to be a voice kink pwp fic, but somehow it changed into domestic angst/fluff. The voice kink is referenced at least.
> 
> Thank you for reading.

“And the night sky is red and hate and wrath.”

Anders covers his mouth with a fist and he curls into himself. He looks anywhere, but at Fenris. He sniffs and his eyes burn, but he isn’t going to cry. He won’t cry while he’s naked. But he is having a hard time stopping the tears from falling and Justice isn’t helping either. He barely feels the spirit’s presence at all. He tries to keep the tears at bay, but a choked sob escapes his throat when Fenris reads, “but I still love him, so we run.”

Fenris’s voice doesn’t waver when he recounts the year following the Chantry explosion. He lets out a whimper and shudders when he remembers the fight they had. The screaming, the shoving, the sudden pain he felt across his face, the anger bubbling over, his hand blazing hot, more screaming, objects breaking. Storming out of their bedroom, fleeing Virgil’s Keep to Ozammar. Ozammar to the deep roads…

Justice shoves the memory back to the corners of his mind and blocks out the details. He frowns. _We’re going to have words about you keep doing that to me, Justice,_ he thinks at the spirit.

Justice retreats, ignoring him. He digs into his legs. _Justice!_ He shouts in his own mind, but he’s shouts go unanswered.

Anders returns his focus to Fenris and catches last bit of the story, “…I am happy. Very happy. I have my lover in my arms again. Life is hard, but all we need is each other.” Anders glances up at Fenris to see if he is done. His expression is hard to decipher and his fingers are still. He can’t be read, but finally his stoicism is breaks on the last sentence. “Tomorrow, I fear, I will wake and he will be gone.” His voice cracks and he nearly can’t finish, but he does.

Fenris closes the journal with a loud snap and chucks it at hard leather wall of the tent. There is a soft thud and it lands on Anders’s trousers. They sit in silence, both not looking at each other. Both trying hard not to cry.

Fenris rubs the back of his neck. “I should have kept it to myself,” he whispers.

Anders snatches Fenris’s free hand, startling the elf. He kisses his knuckles a few times. “I’m glad you didn’t,” he mummers against his flesh. He plants another before holding it close to his heart. “Where did this come from?” he pleads through his voice and eyes.

He doesn’t answer right away. For a moment, Anders believes he will have to ask again, but Fenris sighs and finally looks up. “When we last stopped at an inn and ran into the ex-Templars." He bows his head again, "I can't get what happened out of my head.”

He exhales quietly, “that was months ago, love.”

“You don’t think I know that?” he snaps and rips his hand free. He closes his mouth shut the moment the words fly out of his mouth. Anders jumps lightly at his harsh tone. The elf swallows. “I’m sorry, I did not mean to yell. I just,” he hesitates, “been plagued by nightmares since. I dream about Templars surrounding us, or Vael finally tracking us down." His balls his hands into fists thinking about their former friend. "Or you with the Tranquil brand on your forehead," the thought makes Anders squirm and angers Justice. He continues, despite their discomfort. "And it isn't just you I'm worried about. We have no idea how the brand will affect Justice. Much has happened to us already and I fear our luck will run out soon. I thought that was our luck running out." 

Guilt claws at his chest at Fenris’s confession. Justice returns and shows hadn’t notice either.

“Come here,” Anders tugs on the hem of Fenris’s leggings and pulls him into his lap. He is met with no resistance. He kisses Fenris’s temple. Fenris slinks his arms around the mage’s middle. “Maker, we didn’t even know you were having sleeping problems.”

Fenris rests his head against Anders’s shoulder. He lifts his hand and strokes the mage’s thick hair. “It wasn’t every night,” he confesses, “and I hid it from you, because I didn’t want you to worry.”

Anders can’t help a quiet laugh, “now I know how you feel when I use that line.”

He chuckles too, “I suppose I’m the fool.” The elf shifts on top of his lap. He presses their foreheads together. He rubs the tears stains off Anders’s cheek with his thumb. “I apologize for making you cry,” his eyes grow distant, as if he isn’t even looking at him. “And upsetting Justice. It wasn’t my attention.”

“Hey, I heard your story,” he flashes a crooked grin at the elf, “I’m not going to complain after you said you loved me several times and how happy you are to be a homeless fugitive with a possessed loser like me.” Justice gives him a headache. _Don’t insult yourself,_ he chastises.

“I am happy and I do love you,” he leans in and kisses him lightly, “and you’re not a loser,” he kisses him again, “you’re my fool mage. My sweet,” another- _ignore him! You are your own person_ , “kind,” another- _this is true,_ _you are_ _very kind._ “and funny.” _He lies. Your humor is terrible._

Anders’s nose scrunches up causing Fenris to halt in his shower of kisses. “At least I have a sense of humor, you blighted nug.” _I am Justice, I have no need for humor._

The elf leans away. He desperately tries to hide his amusement, but fails. His eyes dance with laughter. “I am trying to shower you in affection, but you’re both busy arguing.”

He snorts, “yes, well, he has his opinions,” he feels offense from Justice, who pushes at the forefront of his mind. He lets the spirit take control.

“Anders is not yours nor is he humorous,” the spirit states.

Fenris rolls his eyes. After fives years, Justice still doesn’t understand what he means by ‘my mage’ regardless how possessive he gets over his host. The elf knows better to argue, however. “Stop harassing Anders and let me kiss him.”

Justice tilts his head to the side, blonde hair falling in his face. “Stop hiding your feelings from us,” he says it so simply and shockingly, without a hint of judgement. “You once demanded honesty from us, now it is my turn.” He firmly grips Fenris’s shoulders. “I chase Anders’s nightmares, I can do the same for you too.”

Fenris mules over his words. “When it happens again, I will call for you,” he says.

Justice grins and brings their lips together. The second they connect, Fenris lights his brands, instantly sending the spirit into a blissful ecstasy. He falls backwards and the mage takes over. Anders moans into the elf’s mouth and presses their bodies together.

Fenris dims and the blue light dies, but Justice’s presence is still felt. He lingers just below the surface for a moment before drifting away. _I will allow you two have a moment alone_.

The mage is taken aback by the spirit’s consideration, but is grateful all the same.

Anders lays down, dragging Fenris with him. He waves his hand and dims the wisp he summoned. They stick with chaste, light touches. They’re hands don’t roam downward. He pulls the elf’s hair out of its pony-tail. White strands fall in soft tendrils, creating a curtain around their faces. The tent fills with the soft sounds of their kisses.

“I have to say,” Anders says when they stop to catch their breath, “for someone who just learned how to read and write seven years ago, you can craft a story well.” He tucks Fenris’s hair out of his face and behind his ear.

His tongue wets his bottom lip and devious smirk spreads across his face. “I have written other stories.”

Anders’s eyes dart side-to-side. “What kind of stories?” he asks.

The smirk grows wider, more mischievous. Fenris lowers his head; his lips brushing against Anders’s ears. “The kind that will make you cum by the sound of my voice,” his voice is a low, sensual purr.

All the blood rushes to his cock. “Maker’s breath,” he whispers. He recaptures the elf’s lips and the kiss is feverous. Their tongues meet and they battle for dominance. His hands slide down his lover’s muscled back. He raises his hips and grinds against Fenris’s. They rock together in slow motions, Fenris’s leggings creating friction between them.

Fenris trails kisses over Anders’s throat. He stops at the sensitive skin above the collar bone.  He sucks and kisses the favored spot.

 “You better – read me those – stories— _Oh!”_ Anders gasps. Fenris sinks his teeth into the tender flesh. A jolt of pleasure runs down his spin.

Fenris sits after leaving a mark. He scoots off him and unlaces his leggings. He rips them off quickly. Anders’s props himself with on arm and strokes himself. Fenris gives a few tugs before he crawls forward and gives him a quick kiss. He pulls away, “did you buy my special oils last time we’re in Denerim?”

Anders slows down his stroking and ponders. “Uh…I don’t think so? Maybe?”

“What do you mean maybe? I asked you to pick some up.”

He stops a lot together and summons grease, “let’s not kill the mood because you want your blighted Ativan oils.” He holds his palm

Fenris huffs while dipping two fingers in the magical substance and coating them. “Yes, mage,” he kisses his lover again, “because getting sassy isn’t a mood killer,” he deadpans. He smears the two fingers on his other palm and

Anders points to Fenris’s hard member, “I think the mood is safe from my sass.”

He snorts and they share another brief kiss. He pushes Anders backward. He plants tender kisses down the mage’s chest to his belly to his hip to his inner thigh. He eyes his husband’s cock hungerly. He licks his lips again.  He strokes the shaft, making it slick with grease. He bends over and licks the tip.

Anders’s breath grows shallow. He threads his fingers through Fenris’s hair, the white locks tickle his inner thigh. Fenris slow strokes and tiny licks torture, but he doesn’t take Anders in his mouth.

He realizes why when Fenris stops to prepare himself. He shifts to the right and sits next to him. He leans backs against their pillows. He spreads his legs far apart. He props himself in a way to give himself better access to his entrance. He slips one finger in easily and thrusts in and out.

Anders turns over to get a better look. He slowly rubs his length. “You remember you’re with me, right?” he asks because normally Justice is the one who takes Fenris.

Fenris ducks his head as he pushes another finger pass his hole. Then another. “Yes,” he breathes, “now, shut up and enjoy the show, mage.” He groans and rides his three fingers.

“So, pushy,” he mocks. He gets on all fours and crawls toward the elf. “Demanding. And you call me the power bottom.”

Fenris lifts his head to meet his eyes. He opens his mouth to speak, but Anders won’t let him talk.

He grabs a clump of hair and pulls Fenris’s head back. He licks the lyrium lines on his throat. The elf gasps and thrusts faster. With the taste of the Fade on his tongue, Justice returns to the surface. He hovers, but doesn’t take over.

With the spirit so close to the surface, an emboldening feeling to take control blossoms in the mage’s chest. He shoves the elf onto his back. He snatches the elf’s hands and hold them over Fenris’s head. The elf is shocked for a moment. His green eyes blown wide, his hair fanning around him. He smirks, “five years and you finally take the lead in bed.” His voice is heavy with want.

Anders’s answer is to rock his hips forward. He rubs against Fenris in a slow, sensual manner, causing his lover to pant and groan.

He tugs his member three times before sinking into Fenris. They moan at the same time. Fenris wraps his legs around Anders’s middle, pulling him deeper in.

They share a couple of kisses before Anders starts to move. The first thrust is slow, painfully slow. The second is hard, but still leisurely. The third is harder, rougher.

On the forth, he pulls out completely and slams back in.

Fenris’s eyes fly open and arcs his back. He gasps. Anders thrusts hard and fast without any demands.

He rests his forehead against the elf’s. Now, it’s his hair falls around them. Fenris digs his blunt nails into Anders’s back. He drags them downward as far as he could.

Their tent fills with the sound of flesh against flesh. Soft, hushed moaning. Panting. Kissing.

Anders knows Fenris is almost ready to cum. The way he clenches around him. The way he gets louder.

The mage goes faster, summoning a quickening spell. He summons panacea to sooth the elf.

Fenris shudders and swears. His legs shake and they slip. He aches and arches. He claws at Anders’s back.

“ _Anders_ ,” he moans and his brands light up on their own as he climaxes.

Anders follows soon after, riding his own orgasm.

He collapses on top of Fenris. They lay, panting hard and basking in the aftershocks. With his Warden Stamina, Anders recovers first. He drops Panacea, allowing Justice to rest. He kisses Fenris’s cheek before rolling off of him. He shuffles through their packs for a piece of cloth to wipe them down.

While he searches, Fenris berates himself. He hates sleeping in the wet spot. He should have just ridden Anders while they were in his spot.

The mage returns and cleans his seed off his chest and stomach. “We’re going to need find a creek to wash this off,” he says.

Fenris just grunts. He’s sleepy and for the first time in a long time, content, and he doesn’t want to think.

Anders lays back down when he’s done and wraps them both in their fur blanket. He drags Fenris close in a hug. Fenris hugs him back. His eyes close and he drifts off. His fears of waking up to no one far from his mind.

“We love you,” Anders, with the slight hint of Justice, mummers into his hair.

In return, they get light snoring for an answer.


End file.
